


l'appel du vide

by mindelan



Category: The Outer Worlds (Video Game)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Relationship, F/M, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Issues, Soft Max, captain who is a literal dumpster fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21677326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mindelan/pseuds/mindelan
Summary: Alex Hawthorne saves people but it’s Des who deals with the consequences.
Relationships: The Captain/Maximillian DeSoto
Comments: 12
Kudos: 88





	l'appel du vide

**Author's Note:**

> i know the concept of the cap taking on alex hawthorne's persona isn't new but i wanted to take my own spin on it! shoutout to the amazing writers in this fandom, i am in awe of your work 😭🥺
> 
> this is purely self-indulgent and i honestly don't expect anyone to read it so if you're here hello! thanks for clickin dkgljhslrekt
> 
> **some additional warnings:**
> 
> -so so so so so much negative self talk/depreciating language. des does NOT think highly of herself at all, calls herself "nothing" and things like that. if you're sensitive, please skip this fic!
> 
> -struggling with identity
> 
> -one mention of being a past addict

_Just a little further,_ Alex tells herself firmly. Her breathing comes in short, heavy pants amplified by the voice modulator in her helmet. The pounding in her head throbs with each step she takes, her head feeling as if it weighs a million pounds and only intensifies the ringing in her ears with each footstep. 

What was supposed to be a routine run into town had quickly turned in a situation that’s becoming unfortunately too common for her. Phineas had claimed that alongside light-headedness and being able to slow down time, the cryo might have had further effects on her brain and mental wellbeing. Further effects, he’d told her, mentioning nothing about the debilitating migraines that have begun to happen quite frequently. 

When she feels one coming on, she knows she has to hunker down immediately; whether that be in the Unreliable or some abandoned building, it doesn’t matter much to her. All she knows is that she can’t be caught unaware in the wastelands when she’s so hunched over in pain that she can barely walk two steps without heaving out her lunch. 

And speaking of pain. . .

_Come on. This is easy. A few more steps and –_

Alex bursts through the doors of the Unreliable, nearly crying at the relief the soft, dim lighting of the ship provides compared to the harshness of the Monarch sun. She takes a second to lean up against the door to regain stability, black spots dancing before her eyes and knees threatening to give out. The only thing that gets her back up and moving is the possibility of her crew seeing her in such a vulnerable state; without a word, she hurries past where Parvarti’s lingering at the corner of the hangar bay and rushes into her room. 

Once alone, she pulls off her helmet uncaringly and lets it fall to the floor with a resounding clang. The sound only makes her migraine worse, the flare of pain starting in the base of her neck and spreading throughout her limbs. Her skin feels hot, fevered, with tips of her fingers and toes tingling. Bile rises in her throat as she scrabbles at the clasps of her armor, nails scratching at the skin of her neck, her arms but she doesn’t care, needs it _off off off –_

Her armor isn’t heavy, but when she finally gets it off, Alex feels light enough that she could float up to the ceiling. Once the armor comes off, however, and she’s standing in nothing except her undershirt and leggings, she’s no longer Alex Hawthorne. 

Alex Hawthorne is a faceless, silent suit of armor, the protector of the galaxy, the hero. Desdemona Walker is a washed-out former addict who struggles with the weight that has unceremoniously been shoved onto her shoulders. Alex saves people but it’s Des that deals with the consequences. 

Her room is completely dark, almost pitch black, but the tiny shreds of light streaming in are still too much. Closing her eyes, she stumbles to her desk and feels around for her medicine drawer, knocking things off onto the floor in her hurry. Each movement – no matter how small – feels as if someone has her skull in a vise and is slowly squeezing her head tighter and tighter. When she finally finds it – _fuck._ Empty, her fingers brushing only air and the sharp corners of the cabinet. She’d made a mental note to replenish her stock on Fallbrook, but had rushed back to the Unreliable when she’d felt the first hints of a headache forming in her temples. 

Des debates putting on her armor to go out and ask Ellie if she has something to ease the pain, but the thought of moving and straining herself further sends a sickening feeling rising up in her gut. Putting on Alex’s persona is too much for her right now. 

The crew doesn’t know Des. They’ve never seen her face or heard her real voice; around them and everyone else, she keeps her body covered and speaks only when her helmet is on – and even then, she talks very rarely. The scar across her throat prevents her from voicing anything for very long without her neck hurting. It’s a fresh wound, still red and puckered; when she remembers, she rubs numbing cream over the area to soothe the hurt. 

She’d gotten that scar merely hours after leaving her cryopod. She’d yet to become Alex, instead choosing to try and survive as herself. . .which had only lasted until a marauder put a blade to her throat and nearly severed her head from her body. Days later, she’d woken up in Edgewater with what was said to be a miraculous recovery. 

That day, Des Walker had disappeared. In her wake come someone worth following, someone inspirational, someone a hell of a lot like the woman Des had always wanted to be – all under the name of Alex Hawthorne. 

“Fuck,” she whispers out loud, voice hoarse and cracking. Tears pool in her eyes and she uses the heel of her palm to wipe them away angrily – angry at herself, the galaxy, this fucking migraine that’s making her life a misery. 

All of it hurts. It fucking hurts. She never used to get migraines before Phineas shot her out of cryo. Her skin is too tight, her insides threatening to burst out of their seams, a blunt object hammering away at her head every time she moves and Des just – she just gives up. She stumbles to her bed and tries to get comfortable. To her frustration, any position she shifts into doesn’t alleviate any of the discomforts; she cries softly into her pillow for lack of anything better to do, which is fine because Des is weak and she’s Des right now. 

She’ll be strong later. 

Later comes sooner than she'd like.

“Captain,” ADA says, interrupting her sleep. “The crew has been worried about your wellbeing. The vicar is at the door. I am letting him in to confirm that you are still alive.” 

ADA’s voice wakes Des with a jolt, a thin sheen of sweat covering her body that makes her clothes and sheets stick to her skin. Her migraine has abated significantly into just a wicked headache, but she needs more rest to be able to get back on her feet. From experience, she knows that it’ll take a few days for her to recover fully, but Alex doesn’t have quite have that luxury of time. 

Still disoriented from being abruptly awakened, Des doesn’t register the doors to her quarters opening until light floods into the room. She sits up fast enough to make her dizzy, scrambling and nearly falling out bed in her panic, tripping over her blankets and lunging forward to where she’d undressed earlier. The crew has never seen her without her armor on – she needs her helmet at least, she can use the sheet to cover up the rest of her body long enough to prove that she’s fine. 

The lights to her quarters flick on and she stumbles back, raising her hands to her eyes to try and block out some of the brightness. Something on the floor knocks into the back of her heel and she loses her balance, falling backward until warm, calloused hands wrap around her forearms and pull her upright. 

Des moves her hands to the side and blinks up to look in the face of her savior. She’s met with the crinkled, concerned eyes of Vicar Max, who’s looking at her in a way she’s never seen him do before. Inquisitive, curious, like he wants to ask questions and figure her out. It makes her skin itch so badly that she has to jerk her arms away from him despite the comfort that his touch brings. He takes a step back and holds up his hands, likely to make himself appear less threatening. 

“Captain Hawthorne,” he says gently, matter-of-factly. “I apologize if I’ve startled you. I’ll admit, this is not what I expected when I asked ADA to let me into your quarters. I hadn’t realized she wouldn’t ask you first.” 

Not what he expected? A strangled giggle rises up in her throat, but she clamps down on it before it escapes her lips. What he had expected was Alex Hawthorne, not this mess of a human being.

She likes Max, maybe more than she should – that’s why this is all the more devastating. Early on, he’d realized her shortcomings with speaking and had taken over that aspect of their partnership. Whenever she needs to pick up supplies, she brings him or Nyoka along to get better deals. Not to mention that she could listen to that man speak for ages; his voice is just so pleasant to the ear. . .

If she hadn’t been going to hell before, fantasizing about a priest will certainly send her there now. 

Unknowing about her internal dialogue, Max continues speaking, “Captain, are you – ” 

His words jolt her into action. She can’t let him see her like this any longer. Spurred on by her panic, she begins to push him out the door, shaking her head when he protests. She can’t speak around him, can’t let him know what her voice really sounds like. He’s already seen what she looks like and that’s broken the illusion enough – she can’t risk anything else ruining the reputation she’s created. 

She wouldn’t be surprised if he decided to leave the ship after seeing who she really is. She wouldn’t be surprised if he told the rest of the crew what he’d found out and then she’d be completely alone. 

The vicar goes willingly, even though she’s being less than gentle in the way she shoves him out of her quarters. Once she’s by herself, she leans against the door and presses her eyes with the heel of her palm. Any pain that had dissipated with her couple hours rest is now back with a vengeance. 

_Fuck._ She’s so screwed. What is she supposed to do if she loses this life? She’s a high school drop-out with varying levels of experience; the longest job she’d been able to hold down was a cashier’s position, and she doubts retail jobs are in high demand here. 

Maybe – maybe the vicar won’t say anything. Alex had helped him out, after all (even if Des had suffered the consequences of the drug trip on Scylla). Maybe his sense of loyalty extended to this side of her as well – maybe she could appeal to that side of him, persuade him to keep her secret. 

She walks over to her terminal and opens up the messaging screen. In hopes of salvaging the current situation, she types out a quick missive and sends it his way. 

“ADA,” she rasps, rubbing at her throat as she speaks, losing energy fast despite barely doing anything. “Tell Vicar Max to check his messages as soon as possible.” 

“Of course, Captain Hawthorne.” 

Though she doubts she’ll be able to get any more sleep, she heads to her bunk anyway. “Don’t let anyone else in, ADA,” she mumbles as she shoves her face into the pillow, wishing the events of the last five minutes hadn’t happened. 

“I can’t stop them, Captain Hawthorne. I do not have a physical body, therefore I would not be much use against your crew.” 

“Just fuckin’ – ” she waves a hand in the air, growing more frustrated as this exchange goes on. As much as she appreciates ADA, she sometimes wishes the robot would just listen to her orders and follow them. “Lock the door or something. Please, ADA?” 

“All right, Captain Hawthorne. Though I must say – ” 

Not wanting to hear the rest of it, Des flips her pillow up and over her head to block out the noise. 

(It doesn’t work.) 

* * *

The next day, it takes Des a few attempts to properly get out of bed. Every time she thinks about the meeting she’d set up with the vicar, she wants to roll back over and pull the blankets up over her head. Maybe this had been a bad idea. Maybe she should just lie back and let the consequences hit her. 

No. _Fuck._ It would be so much easier to stay in her bed all day, but she can’t just let this opportunity slip through her fingers. Being Alex Hawthorne is the best damn thing that’s happened to her and she’s not going to give it up without a fight. This is the first time in her life that she’s actually felt passionate enough about something to actually give a shit. 

But the anticipation follows her even after she manages to get up and dressed. When she stands in front of her mirror and looks at herself in her pajamas, she swears she could make out exactly where Max had touched her last night. Foolishly, she’d almost expected to see his fingerprints marked on her skin in a different color, as if she’s somehow different now that she’s had physical contact after such a long drought. 

And the anticipation follows her when she asks Max to come with her into Fallbrook, follows her when she leads him into the private residence she’d bought off of Catherine. Though he’s seen her face once already, the rest of Halcyon knows only Alex Hawthorne; she’s in her full suit of armor despite the two of them being alone, uncertain how to start. Should she just begin undressing or–? 

Luckily, the vicar has other ideas. Somehow, he’s able to sense her anxieties without anything being voiced out loud. “To ease your nerves, Captain,” he says smoothly, “I have not told anyone of what took place last night.” 

She nods, the helmet making the motion jerky and stiff. “I appreciate your silence.” 

“I suppose I have one question before we begin,” he adds. “Are you all right?” 

Des blinks, opens her mouth then closes it. Why would he even care? “What?” 

“There was a reason the crew was worried about you,” he tells her, brows furrowing. “Are you all right?” 

“Oh. Yeah. I just get headaches sometimes. It’s fine.” ‘Just headaches’ shouldn’t leave her bedridden for hours or have symptoms that linger for days afterward, but that’s neither this nor that. The reason she’d invited Max to meet with her hadn’t been to discuss her health, so she quickly brushes off his concern. It _really_ doesn’t matter – she’s become so used to her migraines that they’ve become just a fact of life. “I didn’t mean to worry anyone.” 

“If you say so.” He’s clearly not convinced but no longer pressing the topic. That doesn’t worry her much. If he even wants to remain on the Unreliable after this mess, then they could have this conversation later down the line. 

“I know you must have a lot to do, so I won’t take up too much of your time – ” 

“I assure you, I’m not busy.” 

“Okay,” she says dumbly. “Well. . .” 

“I must say, this is not as big of a deal as I believe you think it is.” He clasps his hands in front of him, a slight smirk touching his lips. Somehow, he’s finding a source of amusement in all of this that she can’t relate to. “We all knew you were a person underneath that armor, Captain. What I was more concerned about was ensuring that you were alive.” 

He doesn’t understand – how could he? He doesn’t know who Des is, doesn’t know that she isn’t anything like the self she portrays herself to be. There’s a hint of desperation in her voice when she says, “I don’t think you quite get it.” 

“Explain it to me, then,” he replies evenly. “I am at your mercy, Captain Hawthorne. Please, enlighten me.” 

“I. . .” She frowns, grimacing. The words aren’t coming out as easily as she’d expected them to. “I – can’t. Just that you can’t tell anyone, okay?” 

“Oh?” he asks loftily, leaning back in his seat and raising a brow. “And whyever not? Surely describing your appearance wouldn’t rustle too many feathers.” 

“No, it’s not just how I look, it’s that I’m – fuck. You really are going to make me say it, huh?” 

“That is what I prompted earlier, yes. I would like to hear you list out your reasons as to why this is such a big deal.” 

Des groans, sitting in a chair adjacent to him. This is a bad idea. She never should have done this. “You have to promise you won’t tell anyone.” 

“I’m a man of the Law,” he says gently, all air of aloofness disappearing in the face of her distress. He reaches across the gap between them and takes one of her gloved hands in his. Even with the fabric barrier, she can still feel his warmth against her skin. For a second, she just pauses to relish in the comfort of it. “I do not share the confessions I hear with others in my flock, Alex.” 

“Don’t call me that,” she snaps quickly, an unconscious response more than anything else. She pauses, hunching her shoulders. It’s all or nothing now. She hadn’t intended to spill out her life story, but there’s something about the vicar that makes her want to say everything on her mind. “That’s not my name.” 

There isn’t disgust or hatred in his voice when he says it. Instead, there’s only a willingness to listen and an openness to his expression. “Then why don’t you take off your helmet,” he says, “and introduce yourself?” 

With shaky hands, she reaches up and tugs it off. Though her face is exposed – both literally and figuratively out in the open – she doesn’t open her eyes, too scared to see what his reaction might be. 

“Oh, Captain,” she hears him murmur. “Are you afraid of what I might think when I see you? That I could somehow think less of you for how you look when you have done so much for me without asking for repayment?” 

She shrugs a shoulder, tentatively cracking open one eye and then the other. Max looks nothing short of adoring – an expression she’s only seen him wear when she’d given him the book back on Edgewater. It shocks her, sending her reeling back. Why the hell would he be looking at her like that?

“I have a confession of my own, Captain,” he tells her, voice dipping deeper and sending shivers up and down her body. Underneath her clothes, goosebumps erupt all over her skin. “I have become. . .enraptured without even knowing the real you. With your tenacity, your loyalty, your selflessness. Whether you intended to or not, you have ensnared me.”

For a second, Des wonders if she’s in a dream. Never in a million years would she have guessed that the vicar would ever return her foolish affections that she’s tried for so long to keep hidden. She’d been wondering if he could ever grow to care for Alex Hawthorne instead of seeing what has been there all along. When looking back at all of their previous interactions in light of this, it becomes so painstakingly obvious. 

With a sudden burst of confidence, she raises a hand to her throat and rasps, “My name is Des, not Alex. Desdemoma Walker.”

“Des,” he repeats and oh, how she loves how the sound of her name – her real name – rolls off of his tongue. He leans back once again, taking in what she’s exposed to him thus far. Her scar, her piercing grey eyes that her mother used call cursed, her too freckled face. She’s everything other than perfect but he’s looking at her like she is. “It’s nice to meet you, Des. My name is Maximillian DeSoto, but you can call me Max.” 

She reaches out a hand for him to shake, but he tricks her by bringing it up to his lips instead and kissing her knuckles. By the Law, who would have known the vicar would be such a romantic? If she’d been standing, she would have swooned like the protagonist in a period drama. 

For the first time in weeks, Des genuinely smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> if you've made it to the end of this self-indulgent nonsense, ayyyy thanks for reading! find me on tumblr at [vanderlinde](https://vanderlinde.tumblr.com)!


End file.
